


Fly, Crash, Burn

by clgfanfic



Category: War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 03:51:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from the episode "Choirs of Angels."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fly, Crash, Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Green Floating Weirdness #14 under the pen name Laura Cathcart.

_"Harrison, it's over.  Let it go."_

 

          Ironhorse's fingers curled into cramped fists that shook with frustration as he watched Blackwood slump over his desk.  The scientist's shoulder shook with the only half-contained sobs.

          He could feel the explosion that was coming, but there was nothing he could do to stop it…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse woke with a start, reaching frantically for the reason why…

          A groan.

          Across the room Harrison stirred on his couch – the couch Ironhorse had carried him to after the throes of the withdrawal left Blackwood nothing more than a trembling heap of exhausted, hurting flesh.  Whatever the hell that music was, it was bad news, and he silently hoped Norton was having some luck figuring it out.

          The colonel sat up straighter, his muscles stiff and sore.  Blackwood had done a little more damage than he'd expected when the scientist finally attacked him physically.

          Paul glanced down briefly, staring at the empty coffee cup in his hand and only finding the vaguest memories of how it had gotten there.  With a mental shake of his head, he leaned forward slightly.

          "How're ya doin'?"

          Harrison rolled slowly from his side to his back, eyes still closed.  "I'm just terrific," he slurred, the blue eyes cracking open.

          Ironhorse stood, holding the elephant mug in one hand, the other coming to rest on his hip.  "No more pounding on doors, or yelling at the top of your lungs?"

          Harrison sighed heavily, rolling his head just far enough to look at Ironhorse.  Had he really done everything he thought he remembered?  If so, the soldier might never trust him again.

          "That music hooked me," Blackwood said, watching Paul move a little closer.  "It mentally and physically hooked me."

          Ironhorse ran a hand over his hair, the wry expression stating that he found that an understatement.

          "I just couldn't get enough, it—"  He broke off, other images, more sinister and dark, flitting through his thoughts.

          Paul took several more steps, closing the distance between the two men.  He paused, his hand returning to his hip again.  "It is past-tense, though?"

          Harrison nodded, then met the colonel's gaze.  "How's Suzanne doing?"

          _That_ sounded like the old Blackwood.  Ironhorse closed the gap, leaning back against the desk.  "Well, Suzanne says VonDeer was developing a serum that would be compatible with alien blood.  Whatever the hell that is."

          Harrison let his eyes fall closed.  "I guess that means they won't be trying it out on humans."  He groaned, pressing his palms against his face.  "I wish my mind wasn't so fuzzy."

          The scientist struggled to sit up a little further, wanting to regain a better sense of balance.

          "Suzanne also said that VonDeer flipped out, just like you."

          That was the catalyst Blackwood needed, and he forced himself the rest of the way up.

          "Only he was a lot worse – a month worse."

          Waiting a moment for the room to stop spinning, Harrison offered the colonel a half-amused glance.  _Flipped out?_   He nodded.  "I guess that makes sense.  If it was something in the music, he had a lot more direct exposure than I did.  Besides," he added, hoping to convince Ironhorse he really was back to normal, "he was a lot crazier to start."

          Ironhorse's eyebrows peaked and he cocked his head, staring intently at Blackwood.

 _Indian humor_ , Harrison realized.  Paul was playing with him.  "Okay, not a lot crazier," he admitted, looking briefly at his hand, the same one he'd—

          Harrison offered his hand and Ironhorse took it without hesitation.  The scientist squeezed slightly, trying to impart an apology through the grip, not at all sure if Paul understood.

          "I take it Norton's studying the tape?"

          Paul nodded.  "He's been at it all day."

          "Any success?"

          "I don't know."

          "Well," Harrison said, standing, "let's go ask."  The blanket fell back onto the couch and for the first time he realized that it was Ironhorse's Indian blanket.

          "Not so fast, Harrison," the colonel said, interrupting the shadowy memory that had started to take shape in Blackwood's mind.  "First thing for you is some coffee and something to eat."

          The scientist started to argue, but closed his mouth.  He was shaky.

          He nodded.

          Ironhorse led the way to the kitchen, pouring coffee from the large carafe for both of them.  Harrison sank down onto a chair, propping his elbows on the kitchen table and running his fingers through his tangled curls.

          His head hurt, his mouth was dry and rough, his stomach was churning, and his muscles shaking.  He was _not_ a pretty picture.

          Steam rising from the coffee cup slid in front of him prompted Blackwood's eyes to open.  "Thank you."

          "You're welcome," Ironhorse said, setting his coffee on the table and walking over to make toast.  "Want anything on this?" he asked.

          "Just a little marmalade," Harrison replied.  "If you don't mind."

          "If I minded, I wouldn't've asked," Paul countered.

          Harrison grinned slightly and took a sip of Norton's latest creation.  His eyes closed and he sighed contentedly.  "That hits the spot."

          "Here," Paul said, setting a plate with the toast on it in front of the astrophysicist.

          "Thanks."

          "No problem," Ironhorse said, sitting down and sampling his own coffee.  "Another stellar blend."

          "Mmm," Harrison replied around a bite of the toast.

          The pair sat in silence while Blackwood ate and they both finished their coffee.

          "Feel better?"

          "Much," Harrison said.  "But I'm going to need a nap soon."

          "Not too soon," Norton said, interrupting as he rolled in to join them.  He looked at Ironhorse.  "He back to normal?"

          "As close as he ever gets," Paul replied.

          Harrison allowed himself a smile.  "What's up?"

          "Nothing, yet.  I've got mama Cray workin' on the problem."

          Harrison nodded.  "I think I'm going to take a nap, wake me up when you have something, or if Suzanne calls."

          "Will do," Norton said, rolling over to pour himself some coffee, emptying the carafe.

          Ironhorse sat at the table, finishing his own coffee before he returned to Blackwood's office, finding the scientist stretched out on the couch again, the Indian blanket snuggled up tight around his chin.

          "He sleeping?" Norton asked from behind him.

          Ironhorse nodded.

          "I'm going to check on the computer, care to join me?"

          "Only if you make more coffee," Paul told him.

          Norton grinned.  "No problem," he said.  "I've got an idea for a new blend I want to test."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Per usual, Norton and the Cray were able to solve the mystery of the musical addiction.  Ironhorse sat quietly, watching the man work his magic at the keyboard, and when Drake looked up and announced, "I've got it!" the colonel picked up the phone and pressed the intercom for Blackwood's office.

          "Harrison, Norton's got something."  He waited a moment, then tried again.  "Harrison?"

          "I'm on my way, Colonel," was the sleepy rely.

          Ironhorse stood and carried his long-empty coffee cup back to the pot, considered pouring himself another, but changed his mind as Harrison stepped out of the elevator and walked over to claim the seat the colonel had been occupying for nearly three hours.

          "Okay, so show me," the astrophysicist said.

          Norton rolled back and rewound the tape he'd been using for the analysis.  "There," he said, then rolled back to the workstation and muted the sound.  "There," he repeated.  "It sounds like someone dropped something into the music," he said excitedly, his hands flashing to punctuate his comments.  "An embed of some kind."

          "It reminds me of the Sixties," Ironhorse offered.  "You remember, 'Paul is dead.'"

          "Advertisers have been using subliminal suggestions for years," Norton replied, typing.  "Hold on, and I'll give you a visual representation of the music."

          "Yeah, this area here," Harrison said, leaning closer and pointing at the monitor screen.  "It looks like a beta wave that could render the subconscious more receptive."

          "So any command repeated—"

          "Would become gospel," Harrison said, glancing up at Ironhorse.

          Norton snorted, both impressed and annoyed that the aliens could come up with something that subtle and effective.  He typed, honing down the analysis until he could capture the embed wave itself.

          Harrison lifted out of his seat, his hands flying to his ears.  "Turn it off," he said, his voice strangled.

          Norton did.

          Blackwood's hands dropped, one of them coming to rest on Norton's arm.  "Okay, the reason that this music feels so good is somehow it stimulates the pleasure centers of the brain; that's what makes it so addictive."

          "They really came up with a winner this time," Norton said.

          Harrison nodded.

          "I want to run some more tests, try and find out who the bad guys were trying to target beside VonDeer," Norton said.  "If they were."

          "Do it," Harrison replied, standing and heading for the stairs.

          Ironhorse gave the hacker a light slap on the shoulder.  "Good work, Mr. Drake."

          "Thanks," Norton said, then turned back to the keyboard and started typing.

          Paul followed Harrison upstairs and into the scientist's office.  "More nap time, Doctor?"

          Harrison shook his head.  "Not for a couple of hours.  The dreams get too vivid."

          Ironhorse nodded.  He'd always suspected the reason why Blackwood chose to sleep one hour out of every five had something to do with the man's nightmares.

          "But I would like some time alone," Blackwood added.

          "Sure," Ironhorse said.  "I'll let you know if Norton finds anything else."

          "Thank you."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse found enough paperwork to keep him busy until suppertime.  Norton opted to eat at his workstation and Harrison declined, claiming that his stomach was still too tender.  That left Mrs. Pennyworth and Mr. Kensington as his company.  When he finished, Paul carried his plate and cup into the kitchen and then headed for Blackwood's office.

          Pausing outside the closed door he knocked once and opened it.  "Harrison?"

          Blackwood was slouched behind his desk, a troubled far away expression on his face.

          "Doctor?" the colonel called.

          Harrison glanced up.  "What?  Did Norton—"

          Ironhorse shook his head.  "No, nothing's new."

          "I'm not hungry."

          "So you said an hour ago," Paul replied.  "Harrison, what's wrong?"

          The astrophysicist swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat.  "I was thinking about…  About what happened in here…  I mean, I—"

          Ironhorse walked over to stand in front of the cluttered desk.  "Harrison, it's over.  Let it go."

          Blackwood looked up, meeting the man's gaze.  "Let it go?" he managed.  "After what I did to you?"

          A slight smile lifted the right side of Paul's mouth.  "No permanent damage, Doctor.  Just a few bruises."

          Harrison immediately looked away.  "I was out of control—"

          "I know that, Harrison."  Paul leaned over the desk, resting his hands on the surface.  "It wasn't you."

          Blackwood looked back.  "How do you know?  How do you know those weren't my real feelings?"

          Ironhorse straightened.  "Even if that were true, and I don't believe it is, so long as this Project can work together against the aliens, what you or anyone else here thinks about me is irrelevant."

          "Why didn't you… hurt me?"

          Paul paced off several feet.  He did _not_ want to have this conversation.

          "Harrison, my job is to _protect_ the members of this Project, not hurt them."  He turned, meeting Blackwood's intense gaze.  "Besides, I didn't have to.  All I had to do was make sure you didn't do any serious damage to me and wait for the effects to wear off."

          Harrison shifted and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desktop.  "You've seen stuff like this before, haven't you?"

          Paul hesitated a moment, then nodded.  "A few times."

          Harrison allowed himself a smile.  "You constantly surprise me, Colonel."

          "Why?"

          "You're more human than I give you credit for sometimes."

          The black eyebrows arched gracefully, but there was no offense in the man's eyes.  "You better get some more sleep," he said.  "You're starting to sound stranger than normal."

          "I think I will," Harrison said, standing and moving to the couch.  He picked up the blanket.  "Mind if I borrow this one more time?"

          Paul shook his head.  "No, help yourself."

          Harrison sank down and arranged the blanket.  "Thank you, Colonel."

          "Just doing my job, Doctor."

          "I know," Blackwood said as Ironhorse headed for the door.  "But you do it so well."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse sat, watching as the information from Suzanne reached them.  If she was right…

          He reached out and pressed the intercom for Blackwood's office.  He hated to interrupt the man's nap, but—  "Harrison, we've got an emergency," he said.

          "Huh?"

          "I said we've got an emergency, Harrison.  Get down here."

          "Right.  Coming."

          He turned back, watching the data.  If the aliens could immunize themselves, his troops would lose the ability to detect them using the Geiger counters – their primary tool…

          Harrison moved sluggishly in to join them.  He paused, resting one hand on the workstation and the other on Norton's shoulder.  "Where are we?"

          "Well, Suzanne's found out what the professor was up to.  He's developed a vaccine so the aliens can protect themselves from the earth's bacteria."

          "Norton, call Suzanne and tell her we're on the way," he instructed, looking to Ironhorse for an okay.

          Ironhorse reached out, touching Harrison's arm.  "Harrison, are you sure you're—"

          "I'm fine, Colonel," he assured, shifting his hand from Norton's shoulder to the space just above Ironhorse's.  "I'm really fine."  He let his hand fall to lightly touch the soldier's shoulder.  Ironhorse did not flinch.  "Let's go," he said, tapping the man's shoulder a little more forcefully.

          Harrison turned and left, and Paul followed, reaching out to pat Norton's back on the way.  The hacker watched them leave, silently praying that they got there in time.

 


End file.
